(A poem to be recited by actors)*

I

[Salome]

Jokanaan, such is my desire for thee,
The moon and stars hath turned away their face
I thirst to kiss thy sullen lips, softly,
I love thy lips, thine eyes that darkly gaze.

Fain would I strip thy garments all away
Replacing each with kisses to thy skin
Just as the dark of night becalms the day
Mine open arms shall gather thee within.

I burn to taste the kisses of thy lips
Just as the hummingbird sips from a rose
Stealing thy nectar with such tender sips
As melt thy sternest aspect, till it goes.

O let me taste thy kisses, holy man,
And quench desire as only woman can.


II

[John The Baptist]

Depart from me, daughter of Babylon,
That look'st on me with such covetous gaze!
Siren of *****'s mire, harlot, begone!
Away with thee and all thy wanton ways!

How canst thou speak with such depravity
Addressed unto a holy man of God?
How canst thou dance in merry liberty
Where our forefathers, seers and sages trod?

Look not upon me with thine eyes of lust,
With salivating, ravenous desire!
Love's purity shall outlive mortal dust
When thy dark soul burneth in Hades' fire!

Harlot of Babylon, strumpet, begone!
I am not thine to crudely gaze upon.


III

[King Herod]

Salome dances, circling the hall,
Gold lamplight shimmers in her dove-like eyes;
Her flame-red chiffon swirls with each footfall,
She glides like a bright bird of paradise.

Behold, she throws a veil onto the floor,
Exposing but a fleeting glimpse of breast;
Allowing but a small promise of more,
Another veil she throws, at my behest.

She sinuously sways her slender hips
And not one moment do her eyes leave mine;
She dances closer, smiles play on her lips
Those lips that could be sweet as Muscat wine.

And still she dances, ravaging my sight,
This light-skinned girl with hair as black as night.


IV

[John The Baptist]

Behold! She dances now before the king,
Whose eyes are full of lust incestuous;
For *****'s daughter, wildly gyrating
Whose very presence here is blasphemous!

I hear the music from my dungeon cell
Her light footsteps, distracting me from prayer,
She dances like a dervish sprung from hell,
I reel with loathing, knowing she is there.

Beware thy sins, Herod, Herodias!
Thy fall from grace approacheth like a storm!
Beware daughter of *****! None shall pass
Beyond the pit, the flames, the locust swarm!

Thy kingdom shall be cast into the flames;
Thy souls struck from the book of living names!


V

[King Herod]

Ah! Now the last veil flutters to the floor,
Her body holds no secrets from mine eyes;
Like ripened fruit making me thirst for more,
But I have promised more than may be wise.

Now I make good my promise unto you,
Salome, fairer sister to the moon;
Come now, I am thy slave; what can I do,
Name thy reward, and thou shalt have it soon.

Come hither, precious girl, I wish to share,
Take from the riches offered up to thee;
Choose from the sweetest wines beyond compare,
The rarest rubies of my treasury.

From treasured gems to pleasures of the vine,
Pray name thy heart's desire; it shall be thine.


VI

[Salome]

My heart's desire cares nothing for my love
What jewel can ever love me in return?
My regal beauty's deemed as not enough
For Jokanaan. I see him, and I burn.

I spurn thy earthly treasures set in gold,
I yearn not for their dancing play of light
There was but one pleasure I could behold
And he regaileth me with words of spite.

Thy precious cellar brimming full of wine
All taste divine; yet never quite as sweet
As luscious lips of he who can't be mine
Whose savage beauty stings me like defeat!

Therefore I say, reward me if you can;
Bring me the severed head of Jokanaan!


VII

[Herod]

Salome, you have asked a dreadful thing,
Such monstrous words flame from thy pretty lips!
I offer thee my finest emerald ring
The choicest clipper from my fleet of ships;

Thou canst prevail upon me for my land
My fields and vineyards all lain at thy feet;
Stables of horses all at thy command,
All of these gifts might make thy joy complete.

But do not ask of me the baptist's head,
His eyes disturb me far enough in life;
I listened well to everything he said,
His death would be a curse; a flaying knife!

Salome, quell the anger in thy breast,
I beg thee, reconsider thy request.


IX

[Salome]

Thou shalt not swerve the purpose of my mind,
My mind is set, this action must be done.
There is no greater gift that thou might find
Than that Jokanaan's eyes forsake the sun.

I prithee, take that scurvy **** away,
His eyes stare so, his tongue derides my name;
Silence his prating tongue, he's had his say
Now he must suffer for his words of flame!

I shall not sleep with that voice in my ears,
Sever that head, that mask of insolence!
He rants of prophecies, preys on thy fears,
Now he must make his final recompense.

I danced for thee. Reward me like a man,
Bring me the severed head of Jokanaan!


X

[John The Baptist]

A famine on thy fields, monarch of shame!
Locusts shall take thy vineyards and thy corn!
Rivers of blood have stained thy royal name
Thou art forever doomed, thy kingdom torn!

Thy family are coiled like nesting snakes
Thy daughter whispers with thy feckless queen,
They die along with thee, when the earth quakes
And fall into the bottomless ravine!

I hear thy soldiers storming through the halls
Approaching now, to my decrepit cell;
I shiver at the sound of their footfalls,
Though I'll not be the one condemned to hell.

May God send Raphael down from the sky;
Take me to somewhere better when I die!


XI

[Salome]

Ah now, thine eyes that once held so much fire,
Forever hide their light of righteousness;
I almost miss that shiver of desire
I once felt in their presence, I confess.

Thy tongue is silent now, that once cried out
In shards of venom, wounding blades of words;
And I'm at liberty to pluck it out,
If I desire; and throw it to the birds.

Thy rosy lips, as sullen as thy brow,
Soft petals, rendered harmless in repose;
They spurned me once, but I shall kiss them now,
As easily as one might steal a rose.

Thou once dared to refuse me, holy man,
Now I will kiss thy dead lips, Jokanaan!



The End.

As she danced before Herod and Herodias,
Salome waved her flowing veil,
Which fluttered and whirled through the air around her
And rippled like a silken sail.

"Ah, your daughter dances divinely,"
Said Herod to his calculating wife.
"She dances as though she's walking on air.
I've never seen so much grace in my life."

After a frenzied flurry and flash,
Salome stopped and bowed to the king.
"My dear," said Herod, "what may I give you?
Half of my kingdom? Anything!

"Tell me what your heart is set on.
I'll give you whatever you desire."
Salome looked at her mother, who
Smiled and nodded--her eyes on fire.

"Your incomparable kindness compels me
To answer simply to a king so great.
I ask for one thing only and that
Is John the Baptist's head on a plate."

Said; done. The executioner
Soon returned carrying John's head,
Which Salome gave to her bloodthirsty mother,
Who was delighted that he was dead.

What about those who keep on dancing
Salome's dance? They pivot and swirl,
Contemplating how to placate
The wishes of others while they twirl?

Do they conspire to perpetrate
Division and discord--not unity and peace?
Have love and kindness and thoughtfulness
Given way to heartless caprice?

Are they moved by seductive wiles
As if compassion does not matter?
Do they seek above all things
Vengeance on a silver platter?

- by Bob B

She danced for Herod shamelessly;
She smiled and flashed her *******.
Herod looked on, helpless not to,
as each veil dropped to join the rest.
The look of lust was in his eyes.
He wanted her in bed.
Salome wanted something else-
she wished the Baptist dead.
He was helpless to refuse her wish
so was the order given-
The Baptist's head upon a plate
as proof he'd left the living.

As she shared her trophy with her mom
I overheard what Salome said.
" You can say what you want about Herod,
but he always gives good head."

Correctly he is John the Baptizer,
His birth was delayed up to late,
Late post menopausal age of his mother,
Elisabeth the wife of Zachariah the priest,
At the temple of the Jews in Palestine
During the regal time of Rome
As a world empire and a role model of tyranny,

Imagine conceiving after menopause,
During the nonagenarian ages
Of all the ages, in the nineties?
But she conceived John,
Was it true or mere sensationalism?
Or mere nerve chilling art style?
To hold the world audience a hostage?
I don’t know but  John was born
After his mother’s menopause,

He contrasts with Jesus
Born by a ****** Mary,
Imagine a Jewish ******
Without ****** *******
Became pregnant,
And gave birth to Jesus,
When Mary was pregnant
She socially visited Elisabeth
John’s fetus somersaulted,
Like a Chinese acrobat
Inside his mother’s tummy,
It was his baptism before birth,
But may be pregnancy of a ******
Has more strength than pregnancy
Of a post menopause octogenarian,

Hence the famous ode by Catholics;
In the name of Hail Mary
The mother of God
Most blessed above all women,

These post menopause pregnance
And ******‘s pregnancy without ***
Contrasts with Adam’s creation from clay
And Eve’s creation from Adam’s left rib,
Another super-sensational literature,
Or pataphorical art; Magical surrealism?

Let me not go dumb or mute
Like Zachariah when he believed not,
But no, I already believed ergo, my vocality,

Now why did John refuse to put on clothes?
Only to put on a skin of a goat,
Or was it a monkey Clobus,
The one which we in Africa
We are forced to ****
Before your father permits you
To face the circumcision knife,
John again refused to eat cooked foods,
He survived on raw honey and locusts,
Nuts, roots and raw fruits, dietician?

Or it was self denial or self immolation?
Like the one often displayed
by the Islamic statesmen aka terrorists
When committing suicide bombing?
No it began with the Japanese Kamikaze,
In preparation to bomb Pearl Habour,
I don’t know at all at all,

Now what of the howling in the wilderness,
Calling for people to baptism in water
At the riverbanks of polluted Jordan
And when he saw the Negroes
Among those who came for baptism
He called them the viper’s generation
Or were they Libyan Arabs?
And Jesus came, John went inferior,
He declined to baptize Jesus,
But Jesus pleaded for the service,
Then the dove opened the heaven
And came down to anoint Jesus,
Which heaven was opened?
Was the sky or the heaven?
This must be the writer’s Gnostics
Used to calling the sky as the heaven
Why the dove and why the heaven?

Then john again began doubting
Very genuine doubt I m telling you,
You see john began spying on privacy of the king
Was he also a night runner? Maybe,
He spied on Herodias the mother of Salome
She was a chic for the king; Herod Antipas,
This stuff threw John into  a calaboose,
Then John began day dreaming
Like any other prisoner
For his freedom and bush foods
He really missed honey and locusts
And also the fruits; Quavas and mustaberries,

He thought Jesus would come running,
Panting like a cheetah to pull him out,
Out of colonial prison, Jesus never came
Hence Johns doubts;
If Jesus is the Messiah really,
Can’t he come to redeem me?
From these colonial prison Herod,
Look; we are all Jews
In fact blood related Jews
And it is a year he has never come,
To pay me a visit when am in prison
Is he the Messiah really?
Or we still have to wait for a true messiah?

But Jesus was a rude messiah
Or Jesus was jealousy? Envious?
Of John’s spiritual competence,
I think he was wrong, totally wrong
He should have saved john the Baptizer
From the Roman colonial prison,
For there is no need nor spiritual logic
For Jesus to heal the lepers, and the blind
To resurrect Jairus’s daughter
And command the devils out of a madman,
But he could rescue his cousin brother
From a colonial prison, was it detention?
Remember Mary and Elisabeth were sisters,

John was a victim of circumstance
Like those who now languish in torture,
Torture chambers of the quatanamo bay prison,
Detained and tortured inhumanly
Without hope of trial nor justice
For no other reason but faith and race,
John was a harbinger of Sadam Hussein,
Osama Bin Laden, Mummar Gaddafi,
Nelson Mandella, Luther King, Dedan Kimathi,
Elijah Masinde, Arap Manyei and Mugo wa Gatheru,
They fought tyranny with firmness
They underwent torture for the sake of humanity,
They suffered for no reason but folly that goes with tyranny.

And finally, Salome the poet,
Living by performing the spoken word,
And Proceeds of her mother’s adultery
And vampirizing on the blood of the righteous
She came and danced in artful wickedness
by gyrating her ***** satanically
In the usual wicked style of a *****’s daughter
Sending the male audience nerveless with ego
Only for to suggest her prize;
As John’s head on the platter,
John was grisly mattered in the cells
Then his head was delivered on a platter
To Salome the poet the daughter of Herodias,
It all happened when Jesus was aware
Amid the full wind of his wonders
On the crest of his fame as the messiah
Isn’t saving the prisoner good as resurrecting
Young damsels and healing the lepers’?

But anyway, it is stark culture of Europe
To chop off the heads
Of those who oppose their tyranny,
It is not only John the Baptist that have suffered,
Suffered like this in the hands of Europeans tyranny,
The list of such-like victims is endless;
Mugo wa Gatheru was buried alive in Kenya
He was ordered at a gun point
By the British colonial police,
To dig his own grave using a mattock
Then the British clobbered and buried him a live,
On this brutal burial of Mugo wa Gatheru,
The Queen of England promoted these policemen
That buried Mugo wa Gatheru,
Kotalel Arap Samoia of the Nandi Militia in Kenya
Was shot twice in the head by the British spy;
The spy chopped off Koitalel’s head
He took it to the queen in heroic dint
And the queen glorified the spy,
Anglo-American power chopped of sadam’s head
Anglo-American power killed Mummar Gaddafi,
Anglo-American power Killed Osama bin Laden
They perpetrated all these without trial,
I am tired of all these………………

Perhaps it was the blasphemy of lovers and fools
This dalliance of ravens and necromancy
The brush of pomegranate mouths
Amaranthine against the backdrop of ochre and tintype
I dance the silent rhythm
Innate the rush of blood in veins
Salome
I am your feathered death on prism wings
Small consolation you cannot see the soul beneath the veil
Spin a legacy of heretics starry eyed and hungry
For flesh and soft skin
Spills the stain on pristine canvas
The palette of indiscretions
Peep show intimacies
Vibrant I am unfettered light
And you are blind
In black and white and gray
You twist this myth
Ropes coiled serpentine
Hungry eyed you feed on dreams
Cellulose crackling in the heat
Borne on desert winds
I rise to claim you
I am the moment
Pigment and poetry
Alive and fluid in your mind
Inescapable
Whisper my name
Salome
031113

with hands made of shrapnel,
i seal the door shut,
hide under the bed.
gunpowder perfume and gasoline showers,
when i was 13 i forced my way out.
i crawled back in,
driven by the sound of
cicadas dying.
theyre last will and testament sounding
too much like salome.
am i john?
summer is over,
the hush of fall falls down
like the last veil.
i am salome,
you are john.
head sitting heavy on a silver platter.
my body is jeweled,
the veils,
the color of violets,
flow, swirl, part.
i reveal myself to the king,
gold melting down his face
like saturated sacrilege.

Come in and enjoy the Night-Light Hotel
Where Pillows and Perfumes meet and relax
And Therapy takes either Bond or Belle
And Goldfish blow this Friday's Bubbly Sax
Here upon registry your Token awaits
The Flannel up-hook which you strip and wear
Then wait for your turn as your Number rebates
A little whilst knowing your Musk reeks there
I for one made this Malicious Decide
And tempt my ****** to swallow this Treat:
Upper-Lower Left; Upper-Lower Right
Then descend into Base - Heh! Heh! Heh! Heh!
Stud or Salome, let Conscience give choose
But trust me to say I am a Man too.

CAME the great Popinjay
Smelling his nosegay:
In cages like grots
The birds sang gavottes.
'Herodiade's flea
Was named sweet Amanda,
She danced like a lady
From here to Uganda.
Oh, what a dance was there!
Long-haired, the candle
Salome-like tossed her hair
To a dance tune by Handel.' . . .
Dance they still? Then came
Courtier Death,
Blew out the candle flame
With civet breath.

She that begs a little boon
  (Heel and toe! Heel and toe!)
Little gets--and nothing, soon.
  (No, no, no!  No, no, no!)
She that calls for costly things
Priceless finds her offerings--
What's impossible to kings?
  (Heel and toe! Heel and toe!)

Kings are shaped as other men.
  (Step and turn! Step and turn!)
Ask what none may ask again.
  (Will you learn?  Will you learn?)
Lovers whine, and kisses pall,
Jewels tarnish, kingdoms fall--
Death's the rarest prize of all!
  (Step and turn! Step and turn!)

Veils are woven to be dropped.
  (One, two, three! One, two, three!)
Aging eyes are slowest stopped.
  (Quietly! Quietly!)
She whose body's young and cool
Has no need of dancing-school--
Scratch a king and find a fool!
  (One, two, three! One, two, three!)

Awake to your heart beating
      in your stomach, in your thoughts, in your skin,
wildly
      Awake to your fingers clasping your
own chin
     As what sounds like another man
but isn't, he's you
     screams aloud words you can't make out
Awake to your chest in a cold sweat

Only then,
Awake and
tell me
about your
so called
          nightmares

- salome albrecht

Ol’ Jonah was looking pretty **** pale
After three days and three nights in a whale—
Or giant fish (according to translation).
Whatever the case, it was no vacation
For Jonah, who had to be pretty smelly,
Spending seventy-two hours in that belly,
Fending off digestive juices
And other secretions that a body produces.
He didn’t agree with the creature, no doubt,
Because the animal spat him out.
If Jonah had early on followed directions,
This story would NOT be in our collections;
And he wouldn’t have taken that trip
And found himself being thrown from a ship.
 
Now Solomon they say was supposed to be wise,
Which is handy when certain situations arise,
Such as the “Judgment of Solomon,” which—
Luckily for him—went off without a hitch.
Solomon understood human behavior
And proved to be for one mom a savior.
Taking a chance, and entirely off the cuff,
He shrewdly called the false mother’s bluff.
It’s amazing it all worked out as it did;
Otherwise, there would have been a dead kid.
Back then could Solomon ever have guessed
The advantages of a DNA test?
 
Kind David’s son Absalom was handsome and charming;
His personality was rather disarming.
Ostentatious and debonair,
He was known for his huge mop of hair.
His thirst for power got so overblown
That he usurped his father’s throne.
So David and Absalom had to wage war;
Father and son had to settle a score.
At Ephraim’s Wood when trying to flee,
Absalom got his locks caught in a tree.
If he had kept his hair short and trim,
He wouldn’t have died on that blasted tree limb;
And his plans might not have fallen apart
As he hung from that tree with darts in his heart.
 
Salome loved to dance up a storm;
And apparently the lady had perfect form.
Her mother, Herodias, bore a deep grudge
Toward John the Baptist; and she wouldn’t budge.
Just imagine the trouble he was in
For having told her she was living in sin.
Unfortunately, he landed in jail
And languished there with no chance of bail.
When Herod’s birthday came around,
To get the merriment off the ground,
Herod asked Salome to dance for him.
He’d give her anything—whatever her whim.
She didn’t want gold or silver; instead,
She wanted John the Baptist’s head.
(Actually, for one reason or another
She wanted to give John’s head to her mother.)
If John had NOT insulted Herodias,
She wouldn’t have found him so odious.
And if Salome hadn’t been SO into dance,
The poor guy might have had a chance;
But since her dancing was so first rate,
His head ended up on a plate.
 
IF...THEN in retrospect
Makes us want to stop and reflect.
Actions and reactions both make up life
And sometimes bring happiness, sometimes strife.
Behave with wisdom and common sense,
And know that there’s ALWAYS a consequence.

- by Bob B

Here in my heart I am Helen;
  I'm Aspasia and Hero, at least.
I'm Judith, and Jael, and Madame de Stael;
  I'm Salome, moon of the East.

Here in my soul I am Sappho;
  Lady Hamilton am I, as well.
In me Recamier vies with Kitty O'Shea,
  With Dido, and Eve, and poor Nell.

I'm of the glamorous ladies
  At whose beckoning history shook.
But you are a man, and see only my pan,
  So I stay at home with a book.

She knocks me
Locks me inside while outside her
The storm is still raging
She rocks me.

She makes me.
Takes me somewhere mysterious
In the dark so delirious
She shakes me.

She feeds me
Leads me to pastures so green
In dreams I never dream
She needs me.

But come the morning she'll float
In a boat she'll set sail
In the heart of beginnings
I wail.

Tonight she'll return
And with her fire she will burn me
With desire she will turn me
Into a wreck.

he used to say he was speaking for an entire people
probably he meant that he understood the sheer veil of
not possessing the Owner yet cursing closed veins
and i can cut Narcissus' marron curls twice think about listing emotions regularly
unafraid some blood refuses to flow my way i feel deficient

behind the sheer-blue veils of eyes
and the water/the waves there is nothing more
than an unpoet
a piece of work
very much instead
a fool also
behind Narcissus is the unbending floor
i can see some gushing grey pieces of completely undusted power

his hands do not interfere with heated temperatures
when Narcissus touches my red-left-ear
without asking the rest of his body remaining same
steady
not even refreshing/refreshed anymore

he again and again clasps his shell hands around
my shoulders some sort of hug and i
freeze yet dissolve i am a watered down paradox
i do not know how to behave
i wish another Nemesis would clasp me that she
would put me into a bathtub my natural
habitat is water anyways
they are Rex and Regina and
i love how her hair remains darker, shorter
even after i cut his curls it does not matter what i do
they are powerful

meanwhile i am in the clouds all
blue all by myself i blurred my vision for
mountains of misunderstandings
those are my trophies i float and
scratch the tips of my fingers on all
the glowing god
awful drama i am a naked goddess the clouds
take me away
they shield me from lightning but not from darkness
i find myself fixated on the dark side of the moon for
scraps of paper it lulls for
individual letters it spits out
i wish i could stop being eighteen or nineteen or
twenty or twenty-two why do numbers come
for me algebra was never my forte i count
and count but my feelings never add up

and i finally feel grounded
into dirt Lupin closest to me our legs
line up without lights always
a little more wild
animal-like and
he kisses my back right where
i chose the moon to reside still it does not
phase me it does not change my desire
to dissect the muscles in his arms
leave the ones in his skull alone
doubt his feelings for me and my feelings for him and my feelings for me i lost my path and Lupin remains
third chasing me down dark chasms
consciously or pinned down we're always in bed
all of us pinned down by the heat by my pillows by the
lines on my neck
Lupin, i love it when you pin me down but you do not
keep me awake when
i've retreated into my bathtub

last blood moon made me bleed i am an
open wound still i am ******* holy/wholly
when you are conquered by me you will
scream for mercy

on middle grounds i shake the veils
around my waist that ground me minimally
i shake and shack them wishing to glue eyes next to
the garnets that garnish my see-
through dress i assess my desires again
i do not know about mildness i want
every star in the milky room every level in the crossed-out
game i want materials rough i want materially everyone on my list

you will never see through me even when
i open my chest there will be vaults of veils
Salome counted only seven but she was
a woman in the first century after men ****** up i
am intellectually miles ahead of her
i have sewn miles of veils together
a silky harness i shield myself with

my egotism is rising on a mountain of misunderstandings
in the milky room they all revolve around me my planets,
my moons crystal clear
my comets and you are dark energy Possessing me
everywhere yet persisting unveiled/unknown
not even your existence can be proven and i do not
ever want to see you/not see you
you are completely parallel to me

and i know my river sweetness is not over
me when he paints me i see his own
****** features through holes in my
face it pains me
how he still wishes we could
come together how he wouldn't
fall so far behind

you will never see through me
i twist the truth to be a diluted version of your thoughts which
i have read and despised i despise tongues and *****
still i dwell in wetness was this what i wanted to reach?
do i know? why do my eyes itch and i scratch until i bleed
never let it heal i want to be in pain

why do my eyes itch whenever i eat anything
itty bitty spicy risqué
why do i cry over four flights of stairs,
four flocks of friends,
four flights back home,
and the exit is wide wide open

Before the opening of the sky where three men sat
asking questions why,
of where the King of men would sit among the shepherds who could pit their wits against the wolves and worriers of sheep.

Asleep and yet in sleep I woke before the Oldest Magi spoke and talked to me in parables, as if I understood the riddles,being middle aged and hard of hearing.

In the clearing by the burning bush as hushed crowds looked on,with fish and bread and baptist John, a Rasta man from Birmingham, stood Salome daring me to take off veils so I could see
her nakedness and blood that dripped black off her hands,
These Holy lands,
this righteous band,these writers of a history that we delivered to the three.a triumphant trilogy that we become before the opening of another sky,another sun that burned names deeply on a cross of wood
and beggars in the hallways full of Baptist John,who with no head or eyes,could not imagine what was going on
but ripped out messages from the scriptures to paint pictures that he'd never see,while Salome intercoursed with Roman scribes and perfumed men and if to be as if she could,
When her name was carved into the wood,  as if another cross to bear would do more good and her screaming could be heard in prophecies by Galilee,as people gathered on street corners,to hear what they could never see and not believe,
and lepers grieved by river banks,their thanks and blessings washed away,their only ray of hope
hung out to dry
as three wise men sat and wondered why, the world moved on
Forgotten is The Baptist John,another prophet dead and gone and are we any better off for all of that?

I put a penny in the hat that's passed around to keep the upkeep of some distant consecrated piece of ground I'll never see
but hedging bets is what we do,
and make lamb stew
because we're all wolves with appetites to match.
I ****** another bleating sheep
and keep my thoughts
silently
stewing.

Darling, please tell me which head you want on a platter,
and I’ll bring it to you. Don’t love him, please,
don’t love him, love me instead,
yes, I’ll decapitate myself if it means you’ll kiss my dead lips,
and please, love me until I die,
it’ll be an honour for a mouth like yours to mourn for me,
but please, don’t mourn for me.

I’m nothing in terms of you,
but I want you to remember me,
if only through the candles in the church,
from which my face burns in selfish wonder,
asking you if you’ve read my autobiography yet, and what you
thought of what I had to say,
don’t mourn for me.

Silver feels so sweet against my flesh,
so cool, like the pools of water
in which I sink myself,
waiting to drown like it’s the only thing that matters,
like all I can do is **** saltwater violently,
and I love you violently,
please, I love you,
but don’t mourn for me.

I wonder how you’ll cut my head off,
whether you’ll use a knife or a sword,
or the switchblade with dried blood that I showed you;
yes, I’m laying claim to this,
and yes, I’m begging you to use my own weapons against me,
but I’ll die anyway.
Let me have this,
but please,
don’t mourn for me.

Can I beg?
Can I ask you to **** me,
so that I can pretend it was my choice
to be lying here,
pale and emaciated,
kissing the knife against my neck,
calling you vampire,
calling you mine,
calling myself baptist, but lover,
don’t mourn for me.

I’ll call cool waters home,
I’ll think of the ocean,
and I’ll think of you,
and I’ll craft a manger from all of this dust,
because that’s all I’ll ever become
as long as you, Salome,
never mourn for me.

Tilt,
another guilt
and
one more rosary
will finish me.

I've done with Salome,
she's the dancer
who knows me
too well.

Skipping out on my bond,
let the bondsman come find me
he'll find only Salome,
dressed in her veils.

The church bell
rings solemnly

I pray that eternity
is quieter
than this,

Tap, tap, and tap faster now
to the beat she’d exclaim

Her fingers would dance over black and white keys
as her expression screamed passionate
She held herself up with ease, dressed in love
Poise could very well be her middle name
Patience and respect dangled, I imagined
from her tousled brown hair
Laughter to be thankful for in her piano lesson

Clap, clap, and clap faster now
to the beat she’d exclaim

- salome albrecht

I’m just a lanky lass from Wycheproof
Born on the right side of the tracks
Law degree and a stint at Racing Vic
I’ve risen well above the backroom hacks

I’m revered
and I’m feared
I’m Tony’s confidante
I scream, I shout, I rant
Back benchers quake
Ministers shake
I’m an armoured tank
You know I outrank
any one in Coo-ee
of super-strong me

Chief of Staff to the PM
I’m the ultimate femme
Murdoch grumbled, tried to call me to heel
I’m never humbled, I’m totally real
I am the ‘she’ who must be obeyed
I am the piper who must be paid
I’m the gate-keeper
I’m the scythe-reaper

Tony knows who makes and butters his bread
I keep him happy, I keep him well fed
I am Salome, when I call for a head
a platter it’s given, my enemy dead.

I was top of my game and top of the list
of Helen McCabe’s ‘Women of Power’
I’ve never cowered, brown-nosed or ****-kissed
I stand tall, over midgets I tower
Natural-born killer exudes from my pores
I suffer no fools, I banish the bores
I mark my territory, a ******* dog
Clear dry is my vision, no room for fog
Some say I influence all decisions
I’m an enforcer of rigid divisions
There is only ‘us’ in the battle of wills
Ride on my side, for the endless high thrills
Of course I agree I’ve had an impact
It’s true without me, poor Tony can’t act
But sad to tell you, it’s still more than that
I’m in charge of the ball and even the bat
I know there are some who cannot like me
Though I control the national psyche
So come Malcolm, Julie and sad sack Joe
I will decide when it’s my time to go
No-one can challenge Abbot, my hero
I’ll zap them to ashes, to dust, to zero
I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow their House down
Forever secure and wearing my crown
So don’t mess with me, you miserable crew
Just you crawl away in case I say, “Boo!”
I’m beautiful fearless, utterly bold
Remember, I serve revenge icy cold.

© M.L.Emmett

alessandro
botticelli said
let there be venus
(said
let there be you.)

you
running your hands down your own curves
blind;
the mirrors are all broken here.

it doesn’t matter
if you want this.
i want this
dotted i
(crossed t)
wants this

****
is this, for instance.
a pear:
bruised
muscled like
holy breaststhighs
completely inmoving
(outmoving)
breathe—
celebrate
the words
going upward to the sky and the
strawberry-red hair cascading down
it hungers
(like you)
to touch my back
gently
curl around my shoulders like your cold fingers in January

**** not
skeletal.

let there be
me.

let there be—here is where
the words stop mattering to me—
let there be caramelchocolate skin of sunlit honey tint
melting into itself on the wooden floor
(we all
scream
for ice cream)

titian and
anadyomene me
wringing long wet
raven hair
my legs are covered in salt
sand
once the sea goes dry.

almond eyes
upturned
(angular)

marvel at your own geometry.

lips of salome
drawn upward into a not-yet-smile
(cherubic)

to the women who give their thin
pale bodies
to muscular men with perfect
arms to hold them down:
i am for you.

i
with my
******* that blossom at your winter touch
my thighs
scarred by ivory teeth—no.
i
with
******* in full bloom
(orchids)
thighs sculpted by
God himself
don’t you want to make love to me?
doesn’t the world
want to make
love?


love that tastes
more metallic than the blood behind my lips
don’t you want to bite it out?
taste the sweetness behind them?
run your hands over
the elysian fields of my thighs
and the valley between them
don’t you want
my legs slung over your shoulders
don’t you want
your tongue
on my vast skin
sweat made of sugar
and salt.
(bittersweet)

you want
lips crashed against yours like
w
a ves
eyelashes sweeping your cheeks
you want
don’t you want
me
**** with nothing to cover me but my
blanket of raven hair
for immodesty’s sake!

perhaps
i am (is) small.

but
the mirrors are all broke}n here

My father's sister Salome crossed the rainbow bridge she was my French and native link to family root I found after 28 years appart
My daughter Rose drove us to a nearby ocean front to apeace
my grief, breathing in the gentle
sea breeze and sitting on the sand together
Other people enjoyed beach activities too
I had water in a paper cup
but no food remained in a bag,
when a crow unexpectedly landed alone by my side
no other raven/crow were seen.
perhaps attracted to my silvery long hair flying maybe from
my daughters house 1 mile away from Marina where I often fed crows and ravens cat food.
This raven/crow's feathers glistened in magestic dark bluish green hues. I'd caress its plumage but didn't not to ***** it
it wasn't my purring feline!
It deared trust me further  though pointing it's beak at my cup of water and it drank thirstily as I held it joyfully to its beak gently quietly as it drank;
then it pointed its beak
to the empty bag so I
appologized moved in regret
for no more food was in it.

My girl took photos of this awesome moment but she
never mentioned its greatness again my Rose simply said something unexpected to me
"don't feed crows in my home"
Jeff does't like them around!
and I felt her tongue's needle
also in my heart!
Such rare moment in time
a universe in itself!
time had stoped!
with a hungry raven/crow
this tender moment
lived only in my memory
without the pictures taken
untill now sharing one crow's gentle greatness and courage
to land close to one human
seeking food.
The graceful raven/crow's
encounter!
Rosie's own loving mom,
instantly reveared and
trusted BEST by a greatful intuitive trusting creature
a raven/crow!
How special it made me feel!
to choose me by the sea.
How deep my girl's comment
stung that since married
Rose behaves indifferent
where once tenderly moved!
wrongly misguided by
strange racist bad people 
Rosie"s hill billy superstitious
ignorant white trash in laws.
My evil ex's sister ugly snake
in every Mothers paradise
a "fat pig" she calls herself a Mansons advocate almost
turned me into a murdered pregnant Sharon Tate!
Lizz in the habit of arranging
calls to my three girls in laws, sons in law, my old boss at various employment
bussnessess a hate crime of old
saying my name and cursing them so I get fired then telling my girls nobody liked me at work either! brain washing them
and assassinating my character!
Lizzz since age 12 a drug user ******* to control rage in her brother two pees in a pod
my ex once told Lizz in a moment of lucidity;
"you'll never be half the
woman my Mexica-American beautiful wife is."
Since then my life is hell
No. I don't blame Lizz shes mad
I blame myself trusting her
hearless impotent brother
my grown girls are under their spell they mingle with vipers now
Surely even a courageous
greatful raven/cow has
more grace and common
sence to trust me Mom
to nourish and care for it.

This is my life in the big
apple USA
who wants my script!?
it's up for sale!
povery is a *****! please hurry.
or I'll be famous after death!.
~~~~~~~~
By:Karijinbba
All Rights Reserved
Revised 4/2/19
(excerpt from my memoir!)
(AA/Bba/Asg. (proudly)

The moon last night
with clouds for veils
dancing like a gypsy maiden;
moving cross the waters deep,
Salome never looked so fine.

No, I was torn naked and bleeding from the mouth of a death star
and woke to find mountains laid bare by the sea.
In the shallows of blood baths and craters, where the crushers of garlic and the harlots all meet
and the stiflers of dreams, dream on (right up my street)
that's where you'll find me.

In the 'Benbow' with pirates and pieces of eight and with cords tied to timepieces
(don't want to be late)
and the show starts at nine
when after drinking two bottles of cheap German wine
Salome appears with a head in her lap
we clap
because that's what we do.
(Lost innocents are few and we ain't none of all that)

But the ship sailed at four carrying whalebones to Spain
to tighten the corsets
for those Senoritas
who put me to such shame.
What's in a name that it's spat on the floor
by crimson clad virgins
who won't leave the doorways of bodegas
and Degas paints on.

A shanty
a song and the night carries me along on a wave of cheap scent
where oft' I have spent a weeks earnings on unsatisfied
yearnings.

In the end someone will send me a typewritten note or a telegram
to let me know just who and what I am
until then
in the 'Benbow' 'til ten and the crows crow at midnight when the lights all go out.

i don't live outside my poetry,
                                                             i live me poetry,
i have five cigarettes in a packet
and about 3/4 of a bottle
of whiskey left: i haven't had a natural
falling asleep pattern to mind
with a 9-to-5 of tomorrow to mind
for, over, 9, years! i synthesise sleep!
not out of laziness - mind you, if i was in a wheelchair
i wouldn't be eager to fake-dance
or embrace swimming - limb or limbless
there's still Pistorius to mind,
doesn't mind a moth-on-fire to
apply Einstein's relativity to what
Socrates already said: apply
relativity to dichotomy and it all just
becomes an undecipherable monism
without a beyond to justify good and evil...
a... **** it... whatever! let's admire
Louis the XIV fireworks and wine!
but his brother, ooh! what a firecracker!
Chevalier de Lorraine was my hair too curly
they almost might - the intrigue decipher -er,
additions to a false spelling mishap -
or the proof of nobility, had the mother
begged otherwise and the daughter not
endangered the quest by seeking out
a scaffold -er's errand to guillotine the tulips
for a fragrant bouquet - here the admiration
for the stern heart of the east replaced
with the jealous heart of the west...
but Philippe! **** two horses and a cow!
i.e. *******! what a reworking of puppets...
in the hall of the crimson king... e -ing,
-ah ah-ah... the rōnin purity, the pride,
a poet's wet-dream of fancy, best luck drunk,
bad luck sober - i wondered quiet a many times
whether i had ***** or just a ticklish farce of
fancy to roller-pin the protruding genitalia
into the constituency / obligation / necessity of marriage...
the same as Narcissus spoke without an **** partner -
the ****** rap of Louis the XIV courtroom
imitating behind curtain the head of Charles I
in clone chandelier the fate of John the Baptist and
the ****** of hate of Salome...
how the two combined, the export of Iraq met
in Egypt with likewise revision of the genital parts,
Iraq translated into Israel, the two combined...
why f.g.m. rose from yawned over m.g.m. because
of the harem of kings! Philippe though! what a king!
that standards shook, the banners quaked,
the muskets shot blanks for a deadly purpose,
and there was poor Louis with the armour of quote
and a ***** of power inherited: appearance is power -
likewise today, what appears powerful is indeed
powerful, but only in deception,
beside the deception there's is no power
except the innate purpose for symbolic hierarchies,
and look where that ends up, Sinatra singing a song
about pennies raining from heaven,
indeed pennies among the streets of paupers,
the crown easily *******-on from a pavement's perspective...
i'd ask you to sit on your laurels were you
emperors, but you are kings...
so why not sit on that thorny crown of yours?!
hey! pristine gold is worth more than a poet's anatomy!
that's the casual expression, if you sit on laurels you're being
lazy... a poet's Welsh longbow man's V salute against
the French emperors - but i'd like to see them sit on
that famous crown of thorns, or the seven gilded
pikes of Rome resurrecting Vlad and the villainous Turk;
sarcasm disarms all seriousness in attitude
toward rank, and in turn disarming itself as
placed in hierarchic demands of humour -
sarcasm competes outside of the hierarchy of humours,
outside of comedy, it's there to be a buckling
when authority becomes all too... ridiculous.

god is a woman
and she is angry.

her tongue is a serpent,
medusas mouth,
and her fists are vultures.

seven eyes,
seven horns,
seven doors.

the angels are women too
because only a woman
can weep so much.
someone unfurl her wings,
break the lock.
she is a dove and this
is her olive branch.

in the catholic church only men
can be priests.
but this church,
this gold and silver church,
was built from the bones
of sleek coated mares,
of birthing cows,
of cream skinned ladies in
veils and jewels and wine stains.

ask delilah of samson.
ask jezebel of ahab.
salome of john,
mary of joseph
and magdalene of jesus.

ask the moon of the sun.

ask god about her daughter,
the one still nailed to the cross,
still awaiting birth in bethlehem.
the carpenters daughter
with a wooden stake at her neck.

ask god about her other daughter,
the one in nazareth
still breathing desert air.

ask god about her sons,
sweet lazarus and wild lucifer,
stepping on hot coals
like summer asphalt.

ask god about the forget me nots
pressed to gravestones
in the heat of august.
ask god about the magnolias
wilted against gravestones
in the bite of december.

ask god about the lions,
the goats,
and the lambs.

ask about yourself,
if youd like.

god is a woman
and hell hath no fury
like a goddess scorned.

If neoliberalism has taught me anything
It’s that Love is a close, slow, and cold war
Of poisoned wells, proxy wars, and intel—
Know thy enemy, keep them closer than allies.
So close this necessary rivalry
That no olive branch can pass between
That, even in times of peace,
The light-bearing serpents
Post guard near the vaults of one’s purity
Unsure whether grain or gold
Actually lines the walls of ones coffers,
And the thousand envious myrmidons
Kept along the edges of their body’s territory
And skirt the embassy within.
Is there room in the hearth
For pacifists like me?
Or are all the rooms quartered by troops?
It’s sad to say, only the words of the cynic
Could truck and barter
Their way through the bronze gates,
What small inlets there may be,
As master seeking the slave
And slave, the master’s whips
Is a true sign of loyalty to Monogamy’s crown.
What Love couldn’t be said to be
The sadomasochism of
The corporate merger,
Or annexation
Or competitive market of ideas?
***, in the time of Smith or Hobbes,
Is exactly what we need—
Egoism allwheres,
Like so much embroidery
The love of ones life
Veils *******, a swallowing, a utility
And undoes the altruism,
Anything but all-true-ism,
In favor of the fetishism of control,
Flashed like semaphores in storm-beaten nights
To any ship passing
Seeking port and safe passage,
Exchange fire, those shapes and pleas,
Turned warnings to threats,
Sinking, sinking deeper
Into each other’s arms.
In all their plotting, do they hear
Andres-Salome, Ree, and Nietzsche
Laughing about in unburdened skin
Laughing to let the summer in,
On cart-drawn pleasures
And rustic, old-world habits
That rub dirt in the wound
Of the flesh’s censures
By the cruel absence of the lash
And the ostracon.